Weathering the Storm
by Emilee Crumby
Summary: Taking care of a friend might prove to be more difficult than the Games themselves. Sick!Peeta
1. Chapter 1

**Weathering the Storm**

**Taking care of a friend might prove to be more difficult than the Games themselves. Sick!Peeta**

I wrote this story ages ago. I'm not really sure that I like it but I want to post it so I can stop thinking about it. I haven't really made plans to finish it so don't get attached.

Based more on the book than the movie. I own neither.

**Part 1**

_It had been eight weeks since I had been pulled from the Arena of the 74__th__ Hunger Games. It had been seven weeks since the closing ceremonies and six weeks since Peeta Mellark learned that our love was a ruse. Thus began the five longest weeks of my life after the last of our belongings were moved into neighboring houses in Victors' Village._

_For someone I had learned to be deeply passionate and empathetic, Peeta surprised me with his ability to live as a stoic. He performed the requisite lover's tasks for the cameras but easily pulled himself away in their absence, regarding me with cool necessity. To the world he was a tribute in love. To those who knew better, he was an efficient and motivated liar. But I had stared into his eyes as we faced death together and I knew that he was both these things and more. To me, he was the man I had broken._

_The guilt I felt for what I had done was overshadowed only by the doubt I felt in doing it. But, I told myself, if Peeta was able to ignore the haunting memories of the past month, so was I. In truth I knew I had an easier time of it. Back in District 12, I was again surrounded by the familiar world which had first taught me to shield myself. Trading brought me back to myself, hunting more so with Gale at my side and I was able to push the Games to the back of my mind most days. One night when Prim pushed away a plate with food still on it, I even felt the fleeting tinge of pride for being able to fill my sister's belly. If I didn't look directly at the nightmare of the Hunger Games, they became almost that; a nightmare disappearing into the light of day._

The snow whipped around my face and I reached back to tug my braid loose, sending a sheet of hair around my cheeks. The added warmth was almost imperceptible but, with my limbs nearly frozen from the hunt, every bit helped. Not that there was much of a hunt to be had today.

The traps had all been empty and, with the snow falling thickly around me, I could hardly see enough to shoot. After less than an hour I resigned myself to going home empty handed. I knew that the Capitol's rations were more than enough to keep my family fed but couldn't shake the sense of failure for coming home without meat. With my head down, I trudged homeward, in snow that had accumulated to the tops of my boots.

Once I got home, however, my discouragement quickly melted away with the heat of a warm house and the smell of baked goods wafting all the way to the front door. While I hunted to keep the memories of the past year at bay, Peeta baked. I usually came home from my morning hunt to find Prim scarfing down fresh muffins or warm bread. Peeta was normally long gone.

Today, though, Prim had stretched her long, lean body over the countertop and my mother bent over the open oven.

They smell great," Prim chirped.

"Not as good as Peeta's, I'm afraid," my mother answered with disdain. In truth the cookies were far from perfect with dark brown edges and doughy white centers, but it was like my sister to be enthusiastic.

"Why are you baking?" I asked as I removed my wet gloves. "And shouldn't you be getting ready for school?"

Prim furrowed her brow at me but grinned. "Cancelled today," she answered. "Because of the blizzard."

"I see," I said, reaching out and burning my finger on the edge of cookie. "And I suppose that's why Peeta's shirking his responsibilities too?"

My mother shook her head. "He's got a cold. He called earlier to apologize but he thought he probably shouldn't be handling other people's food."

My first reaction was to bristle. A cold was no excuse to let my family starve. Then reality quickly set in. My family wasn't starving, not anymore, and Peeta was probably right to stay away.

A thought occurred to me and I groaned inwardly.

"What is it?" asked Prim, always sensitive to my moods.

"I should probably go check on Haymitch."

Since our return from the arena, Peeta and I had made an unspoken pact to watch over our drunken mentor. In our efforts to avoid one another we had moved naturally into a schedule of alternating weeks. Whoever was 'on duty' as I considered it, would check up daily to make sure Haymitch hadn't drank himself to death. This was supposed to be Peeta's week.

"Are you going now?" asked my mother, fretfully glancing towards the window.

"I may as well. The storm's only going to get worse."

I shrugged back into my coat when I had an idea. "Why don't you pack me up some cookies to bring to Haymitch, little Duck?"

"They're not that good," my mother insisted.

"I like them," Prim declared. Defiantly, she shoved another cookie into her mouth and swallowed it with a broad grin. I laughed out loud.

"Either way, I'm pretty sure the liquor has burned off his taste buds anyway. And who knows the last time he's eaten."

While Prim prepared a bag, I pulled my wet boots and gloves back on.

"I won't be long," I told them, as I headed back out. The snowfall had picked up while I was inside and I found it hard to see even a few feet in front of me. Only muscle memory allowed me to get safely to Haymitch's house across the circle.

I entered without knocking and paused to wipe the snow from my eyes. My nose was mercifully frozen and I didn't yet have to endure the stench of the house. Although my house and Peeta's were still fresh and new, Haymitch had had years to accumulate a layer of filth and rot.

I kept my eyes trained on the floor as I made my way down the hall to the kitchen. After tripping over Haymitch's prostrate body too many times to count, I learned to anticipate him. I was surprised to find him sitting up in the kitchen, in the same seat where Prim sat at our house.

Instead of eyeing the hot stove, though, he had his face buried in his arms, moaning quietly. Peeta stood at the stove and looked up me when I entered.

"Hello," he said, in a tone that clearly implied 'what are you doing here?' His voice was a hair deeper and a bit rougher than I was used to, but otherwise he seemed alright to me.

Without raising his head, Haymitch turned his blood-shot eyes on me. "It's Peeta's week to watch me," he accused flatly.

"Yeah," I fumbled awkward, clutching at my parcel. "Oh right, well… Prim made cookies and asked me to bring some to you."

Haymitch groaned and buried his face again.

His attitude irritated me unreasonably.

"Well you have to eat _something_," I snapped.

He gestured blindly to Peeta who held up a spoon over his head. "He said he'd eat rice."

My inutility was tangible. Instead of feeling foolish now, I felt indignant.

"I thought you were sick," I said to Peeta.

He shrugged and turned back to his rice. "Not much," he answered. "Can you get some bowls?"

As usual, Peeta knew just how to ease the tension of a situation. I busied myself with uncovering and washing the least disgusting of the used dishes.

"What _is_ this?" I asked as I picked a congealed bit of brown grease from a bowl.

Haymitch raised his head again and smiled evilly. "Do you really want to know?"

Before I could answer, Peeta reeled away from the stove and directed a powerful sneeze towards the ground.

"Bless," I said uncomfortably. It was a habit I'd picked up from Prim who enjoyed the comfortable formalities of caretaking. Still, hardly anyone in the Fray believed in blessings.

"Thank you," replied Peeta kindly. "I think it's ready. Are there bowls?"

I presented two sparkling, clean dishes. Disappointment flashed across Peeta's face before it was again masked by civility.

"You're not joining us?"

"I should get back." I shifted my weight uncomfortably.

"Come on," urged Haymitch. "If I have to eat this germ infested food, you should too."

"Don't be an ass," I chided him. Peeta scooped out two bowls and passed one to Haymitch.

"I didn't sneeze in the bowl." His tone was half defensive, half hurt. "But I'm sure Katniss doesn't want to get snowed in here with us."

"Why not?" asked Haymitch, taking up a spoon. "This place is a dream." With that declaration he began to shovel food down his throat. For a man who looked to be on his deathbed, he had a voracious appetite.

Peeta looked down at his own dish but didn't move toward it. Instead he dug his hands into his pockets and turned to me.

"Good hunting today?" he asked conversationally.

"Not really. Most everything's hiding from the storm," I answered. I found it hard not to look into his eyes as we spoke and harder not to notice the weary shadow beneath them.

"The animals have the sense to stay home on days like this," Peeta teased.

I shrugged. "It's habit. My day doesn't really start until I've checked the traps."

I inclined my head toward the hall, striving to examine the weather through the glass at the top of the front door. I didn't relish the idea of heading back outside.

Peeta spoke as though he had read my mind. "Are you sure you don't want some rice? I promise I didn't sneeze on it."

The few bites of cookie I'd choked down had done nothing to fill my stomach and a hot bowl of rice did sound appealing. "Maybe a little," I relented.

He smiled and pushed his bowl towards me, crossing the kitchen to fill a new bowl for himself. I noticed his shoulders tense as he silently stifled another sneeze, but this time I said nothing.

Haymitch quickly finished his rice and held his empty bowl towards Peeta.

"More?" he grunted.

"No more of that," Peeta answered.

"Maybe you should stop trading your rations away at the Hob for drinks," I said.

Haymitch sneered at me before curiously reaching forward and plucking a cookie from the bag I'd dropped on the counter. He sniffed it cautiously before taking a bite.

"Gah!" he gagged and spit the piece into his rice bowl. "Are you trying to poison me?"

"They're not so bad."

"They taste like sewage," he retorted, wiping his tongue with a napkin.

"How would you know?" I said, anger rising again.

Haymitch raised an eyebrow. "Darlin', don't you think I've woken up with my face in sewage before?"

"Fine," I snarled. "Then don't eat them."

Peeta's eyes danced merrily between us as, when Haymitch and I paused to glare, he picked up his own cookie. He thoughtfully took a bite and chewed slowly.

"Well?" I asked, turning my glare on him.

"They're… alright," he answered carefully. "A little too much flour maybe, but not really that bad."

He had just swallowed another bite when he started to cough dryly into his napkin.

"I knew it," Haymitch yelled in triumph. "Poisoned."

"They're not poisoned," I retorted as I went to fetch Peeta a glass of water. He looked at me gratefully as he swallowed a mouthful. Tears stood in his eyes from the coughing fit. As if it were a reflex, I brushed his hair out of his face and smoothed my hand across his forehead.

"I think you have a fever," I told him.

I turned to Haymitch. "Do you have any meds here? And please don't make us kiss for them."

I immediately regretted the words as I felt Peeta's arm tense beneath my hand.

"Well," Haymitch said thoughtfully. "The storm's knocked the cable out and it is awfully boring around here."

Peeta glared at him before rising and walking away from the table. He sneezed twice, bending at the waist each time.

"You can kiss me if you really want," he said with a half-smile. "But I sure wouldn't recommend it right now."

I passed him a tissue and winced as he blew thickly into it.

"Well, maybe you should stop trying so hard to entice me," I joked. He laughed along and the tension was broken.


	2. Chapter 2

Sort of threw this together. Don't be too harsh, please.

The subject of Peeta's health seemed forgotten as he moved to clear the table and began washing dishes. I was starting to feel useless again when I noticed the dark fireplace at the far end of the living room.

"Why don't I get you some firewood before I go?" I suggested to Haymitch. Before he could answer, I had snatched up my coat and was outside again.

Firewood was among the many necessities dropped off by the Capitol every month. Not that it was entirely necessary. Our houses each had state of the art central heating. Still, I wanted to be useful. And who's to say the storm wouldn't knock the power out making a fire essential?

These thoughts raced through my mind as I stumbled around the house to the woodshed. If I had thought the storm bad before, it was nothing compared with the onslaught of snow and sleet I now faced. I could barely keep my eyes open in the swirling whiteness and bits of ice pelted my cheeks.

After a grueling twenty minutes, for a task that should have only taken five, I finally reentered the house. I stood shivering in the doorway while I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

"I was starting to think you went home," Peeta greeted me. As he took in my disheveled appearance he pulled off his outer sweater and tossed it to me.

"You're soaked. Put this on and we'll hang yours up to dry."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the goosebumps rise on his bare arm.

"No thanks," I answered, tossing it back to him.

He held the sweater away from himself as he sneezed into the crook of his arm. The sound was loud and painful and I winced with him.

"Do you want to sound like this?" he croaked.

I furrowed my brow but removed my sweater and replaced it with his. It smelled like him.

"It'll just get wet again when I go back out," I grumbled, spreading my wet clothes over a heat vent.

Peeta looked from me to the window behind.

"I don't think you should go back out in this," he said softly. "You may as well wait it out here."

"What about Prim and my mother?"

"What about them?" he shrugged. "This storm won't end for a while and I'm sure they won't miss your surly cabin fever."

Truth was, I wanted an excuse to stay. If I shouldn't go out in the storm, he definitely shouldn't. And to think of him being stuck here with Haymitch while I was warm and dry at home made for overwhelming guilt. Guilt, I determined, that would not be read on my face.

"Fine," I snarled. I looked around myself for a moment. "I guess I could start some laundry."

The dismay must have been evident in my voice, because Peeta laughed shortly, clipping the end with a short cough.

"Why don't you start a fire, and I'll sort through Haymitch's intimates."

It was a welcome suggestion and I bent quickly to pick up the wood I had dropped by the front door. Within a few minutes of carefully arranging and adjusting I had a smoking pile of wet wood that refused to catch.

"Dammit Haymitch," I called to the unconscious figure strewn across the kitchen counter. "How hard is it to cover your wood so it doesn't get wet?"

A derisive snort came from his direction and I flushed angrily. I took a deep breath, preparing to yell, but instead focused on blowing onto the smoldering log. The trail of smoke widened and I felt briefly triumphant. I drew breath to blow again when Peeta appeared crouching beside me.

"Need help?" he asked.

I glanced over at him, cheeks still puffed out, and he smiled. We blew together on the fire for a while, his breaths more wheezing than anything else. Just in time the spark ignited and he sank back onto the floor, coughing miserably into the collar of his shirt.

I furrowed my brow and raised my hand again to his cheek. The heat and high color in his skin were all too reminiscent of Peeta's all-too-recent brush with death.

"It's just a cold, Katniss," he said in response to my worried expression. "Nothing like last time."

"Still," I said, raising my other hand to cradle his face. "I wish we had some medicine."

"Blech!" I turned to watch a sputtering Haymitch stagger into the room. "What is this crap?"

He held between two fingers one of my mother's apothecary vials.

"Where did you get that?" I rose and strode towards him.

"It was with my cookies. I thought it was a drink."

"Why would my mother send you liquor?" I snatched the vial from him and sniffed tentatively at it. The sharp aroma was icy cold on my nose. I grinned.

"It's cold medicine," I said, turning to Peeta.

He smiled too. "Looks like your wish has been granted."

Haymitch grunted.

"Next time, wish for some rum to chase it with," he mumbled as he left again.

"Here," I said, bringing the bottle to Peeta's side. "It smells like Prim's recipe."

He took a trusting swig and only grimaced a little at the flavor I knew to be very strong.

"It's lemony," he said. "But sweet."

"That's the honey. You should lie down. It'll probably make you sleepy."

Obliging he moved to the couch while I stayed behind to stoke the fire. I could feel his eyes watching me work. After a few minutes the first flame appeared, bringing friends along until the fire was roaring and strong. I sat back on my heels and glanced to where Peeta sat on the sofa. With one hand he cradled his head while his eyes watched the dancing flames. His other arm was casually draped around his midsection, I imagined, for warmth. A quilt was folded neatly beside him and I guessed that pride kept him from huddling beneath it.

His body seemed awkwardly cramped onto the edge of the sofa and I realized he was saving space for me to sit beside him.

In a moment I had quashed the jumble of words and thoughts and concerns that threatened to overtake me, and went to sit with him.

He kept his eyes trained on the fireplace. For the third time, I raised my hand to his forehead to check for fever. Now his eyes turned to me, still piercingly blue under the shadow of my hand. They were teasing when he asked,

"Well?"

"A bit cooler, I think. How do you feel?"

"Not bad."

I cocked my head and stared. He chuckled.

"My head's a little sore. Besides that, I'm really okay."

I nodded and withdrew when I realized I was still touching his face. Perhaps I pulled away too sharply. Or perhaps I only imagined the hurt in his eyes.

I sighed. This didn't have to be so difficult. Did it?

I uncrossed my legs so that my lap lay flat. Wordlessly I reached a hand to his shoulder. He jerked back.

"What are you doing?"

I sucked my teeth. "Just…here." I tried again and this time succeeded in guiding his head to my lap. I could feel his neck and shoulders tensed on my legs. Aside from my own discomfort, I found myself aching for his.

I ran a hand through his hair once, twice, and again until I was stroking his head in a manner I hoped would be soothing. He sighed a contented sigh and I felt his body relax.

"Thank you," he said softly, closing his eyes.

"It's nothing," I replied uncomfortably.

He smirked but said nothing.

"Can I ask you something?"

I nodded and tensed.

"Why did you come here, today?"

That wasn't what I'd expected.

"Oh. I figured you'd have the sense to stay home when you were sick. I wanted to make sure Haymitch hadn't drowned in his bathtub or something."

He opened his eyes and studied me.

"When I called your house, I told Prim I was still planning to check on Haymitch."

The image of my sister's plotting face appeared in my mind as I remembered her sending me off that morning with a bag of supplies. Supplies for _Haymitch_.

"She's a sneaky one," Peeta chuckled and closed his eyes once more.

"I guess she wanted to make sure you were looked after. She's very fond of you."

"Is she?" he said while his smile became fixed.

I realized my error and rushed to backpedal.

"I'm glad though, that she lied. You were dumb enough to go out in a storm while sick, who knows what else you would have done if I hadn't shown up. And I don't think Haymitch would make a very good nurse."

"I'll have to thank her for sending you," he said dreamily. "And for that medicine. I'm feeling so much better."

His words were slow and tired. The medicine definitely was working.

"Rest now," I told him. But it was unnecessary. His breathing had already slowed until it was deep and heavy. I fell asleep to its cadence.

When I stirred later, it seemed to be that only minutes had passed. But then I shivered and saw that the fireplace before me was dark and cold. And Peeta was no longer beside me. I rubbed my eyes and turned around, grimacing as my neck cracked.

Peeta stood beside the front window where afternoon sunlight drifted in.

"The snow's stopped," he commented without looking at me.

"That's good." I stretched and refocused on him. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks."

"Thank Prim."

"I will. I'll bring some of the cinnamon rolls that she likes when I come by tomorrow morning." He turned to me. "And I think my mother will have a list of stuff she wants from the Hob. I'll leave that, too."

My expression must have been puzzled.

"I assume you'll be out hunting when I stop by," he explained.

I nodded. "Probably."

He nodded briskly and rubbed his hands together. "I'm going to finish folding some laundry and then head out."

"You need any help?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I've got it."

"Well, I guess I'll just go home, then."

He nodded once more. "Thanks again for everything."

He smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and disappeared down a dark hallway leaving me to see myself out.


End file.
